


Ho'opana'i

by mohinikapuahi



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mohinikapuahi/pseuds/mohinikapuahi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cowboy Five-0</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. To create a western/civil war era Hawaii Five-0 meant that I had to change most things, the most important being the fact that I needed to move them from Hawaii, several other things needed adjustment including Steve's rank and even branch to even pretend to fit historical accuracy.
> 
> 2\. I try where I can to fit to canon storylines, some of them tweaked to fit with the era.

Steve sighed deeply, standing in his stirrups he stretched his taut muscles and surveyed the open mouth of the canyon in front of them. He didn’t like this, at all, but they had no choice, there was a full days hard ride to get around the mountains, this way they could be back on safe ground by mid afternoon. Steve had no intention of being caught out in the open at night whilst travelling with a prisoner, especially whilst his men were running on empty, it had been a two day chase to catch him, Steve wasn’t letting Anton Hess go without a fight.

“Johnson.” He snapped sharply, pushing his hat back on his head, shrewd hazel eyes scanning the rocky outcroppings that stretched out ahead of them.

“Sir?” one of his soldiers rode forward at his summons. 

“Take two of the men and scout ahead.” Steve ordered, “We’ll wait five minutes and follow.”

“Yessir.” He turned back and gestured to two of his fellow militia members before they rode off into the mouth of the canyon.

The rest of the detachment sat and watched as their three members picked their way forward, carefully checking the canyon walls. 

“That won’t help you at all. “ Anton Hess’ irish accent cut through the silence. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Hess.” Steve snarled at him without taking his eyes off the disappearing backs of his men.

“Maybe not but you’re a local, you should know this is the only place Victor can get to you. And he will.” Anton wriggled his bound hands on the saddle horn, the rope abrading his wrists, as he moved.

“You’re going to tell us everything, Anton, all your trafficking associates, everyone you’ve ever sold a gun to. Everything we need to know.” Steve responded, pulling on the reins of Anton’s horse until the horse moved closer to his own mount.

Steve motioned for his men to move forward, careful to position himself and Anton in the middle of the detachment, making them a more difficult target for anyone who might be targeting.

“You should have thought about your family before you did this.” Anton suggested.

“I don’t have family.” Steve answered flatly, fighting every emotion that urged him to turn and beg to know what Anton was insinuating. Just because he was estranged from his father didn’t mean that he wished him any harm.

“Really?” Anton smirked, his own eyes scanning the canyon carelessly. “Just because you don’t speak to them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. You don’t visit your father nearly enough.”

“This isn’t going to get you anywhere, Anton. We will find out everything we want to know.”

Anton reached out, his bound hands hitting Steve’s bicep to get his attention. Steve turned to look at his prisoner, an angry frown creasing his brow.

“Hey!” Anton grinned manically, “Boom!”

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Three rapid fire rifle shots and his scouting party slid bonelessly from their mounts, before Steve watched with wide horrified eyes as a stick of dynamite tumbled end over end through the air, the crackling flame on its fuse casting a red trail through the air, until it hit the ground, the fuse still sizzling. 

“Take cover!” Steve screamed as he slid off his horse, pulling his rifle from its scabbard on his saddle and slapped it on the rump all in one motion, pulling Anton from his horse with the other hand and dragging him to the ground, both of them almost to cover when they were thrown to the ground as the dynamite exploded.

The screams of injured men and horses rent the air as Steve pushed Anton behind him against the wall, his eyes scanning the cliff sides looking for where their next attack would come from.

“McGarrett?” Victor’s voice rang out, echoing through the canyon. “I want my brother back.”

“You’re smart enough to know it’s never going to happen.” Steve called back.

“You’ve been chasing us for years, like a doggy with a bone.” Anton hissed in his ear.

Steve pulled Anton in front of him, one arm around his neck, his pistol pressed against his temple.

“We’ve both got something to lose here, McGarrett.” Victor called. “I’m offering you a trade, your father’s life for my brother.”

“Not going to negotiate like this, Victor.”

“We negotiating, are we?” Victor yelled, “You don’t want me to hunt your father down and kill him, you will give my brother back.”

Anton twisted violently in his arms, pushing himself forward until Steve had no choice but to let him go or break cover. He watched with growing horror as Anton threw himself forward, his bound hands finding the service revolver discarded beside the corpse of one of Steve’s militia soldiers.

“No. Don’t do it! Put it down!” Steve screamed as Anton lifted the gun in one motion to turn it on Steve, his finger closing on the trigger. 

Steve did the only thing he could do, that he had been trained to do, he fired twice at the threat. Kill or be killed was the mantra that ran through his head as he watched Anton’s body crumbling lifelessly to the ground. Unheeding of his own safety Steve slid to his knees at Anton’s side, checking for a pulse.

“C’mon, Anton. No! No, No!” he cried, filled with anguish that he had just killed a man that he hasn’t needed to.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” Victor yelled. “My brother’s dead isn’t he.”

“Victor, listen.” Steve stammered desperately trying to find a way to make things right. He hadn’t meant to kill Anton but it was a reflexive moment, it was Anton’s life or his.

“Then so’s your father.” Victor screamed, interrupting Steve and sending a chill down Steve’s spine.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Steven J McGarrett leaned against the wall of the dirt walled hut that currently served as his command headquarters watching the Governor’s stagecoach being driven inside the walls of his Fort. Only days ago he and the men in his command, a scraggly band of local militia, had put the finishing touches on the fortifications, he wasn’t expecting an inspection. Sighing, he grabbed his hat from the peg beside the door and ducking his head slightly he walked out of his office.

Standing on the small boardwalk that ringed the parade ground, he waited as the stage driver jumped down from his seat and placed a small wooden step under the door of the coach and opened the door. A grin split his face as the first passenger stepped out into the bright sunlight.

“Captain White!” He saluted sharply as he exclaimed happily, “Joe, I thought you were at Leavenworth?” he stepped forward and drew his mentor into a tight hug.

“I was but they decided they can do without me for a while.” Joe shrugged, stepping out of the way as Governor Stan Edwards climbed out of his coach.

“Governor Edwards.” Steve inclined his head toward the new arrival. “We’ve only just got the fortifications finished, we weren’t expecting visitors for a few weeks.”

“We have some news that I thought best delivered in person, Steven, I thought it best that it was delivered in person.” 

“Delivered in person news is rarely good.” Steve’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flicked between his father’s two oldest friends.

“It’s about your father, Son.” Joe spoke gently.

“Perhaps we should speak in your office.” Stan prompted.

Steve let his eyes drift closed as he tried to calm him thundering heart rate. He knew something was wrong the minute he had seen the stage coach pulling through the gates. Stan wouldn’t leave his new wife without good reason, and Joe was the second in charge at Fort Leavenworth. In the years since he had had that posting Steve could count on one hand the number of times Joe had been more than an hour’s ride from his posting. Something was wrong here, very wrong, and something told him that it wasn’t going to end well for him.

Drawing a deep breath, he gestured for the men to follow him to the small building. Inside the room he turned to face the men he grown up around. Now that he looked at them closely, he could see sorrow in Stan’s eyes, and that same distant stare that he himself mustered at times in Joe’s.

“What is wrong?” he asked bluntly.

“It’s your father, Steve.” Joe laid a large hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Shrugging away from Joe’s touch Steve took two steps back, his eyes warily watching the two men. “Tell me what happened.”

“He was murdered, two days ago.” Stan spoke softly.

A wave of pain and remorse washed over Steve, his knees wavering and refusing to hold him upright, he struggled to stand, swaying as he ducked his head desperately trying to conceal his loss. Eventually composed, he lifted his head, his eyes glazed with pain, to speak.

“Who did it? Have you got them?” he spoke from between tightly clenched teeth.

“No, that’s part of the reason we’re here.” Joe answered.

“Who. Did. It?” Steve bit out. 

“Small time crooks. He had henchmen with him, he couldn’t have subdued your father on his own, but the actual killer was probably..”

“Victor Hesse.” Steve snarled.

“You know him?”

“They’re part of a gang that we’ve been chasing around for a couple of years. He and his brother were rustling some cattle here and there, I was trying to catch them out, I was sure they were running guns to the renegade Indians, but I couldn’t be sure enough to get them. We got into a stoush with them on the edge of the county. I killed the younger brother, Anton, but we lost Victor at the edge of the county. He made threats against my father, but I didn’t think he would carry through. I figured I’d catch him next time round.”

“They ARE running guns.” Stan confirmed, “Your father was following a case, they must have been part of it. One of his neighbours found him tied to a chair in his office. It appeared that he was executed. They ransacked his house, took his two best horses and left.”

Steve paced back and forth, large hand scrubbing over his face. Both men looked between themselves before either of them spoke again.

“I have a proposition for you Steve.” Stan offered, “I want you to catch those bastards. I want you to clean up my town. If you’re willing Joe is going to take over your command here. I want you to come home and do what the new Sherriff can’t.”

“New Sherriff? What happened to Duke?” Steve’s eyes searched Stan’s face.

“Bar fight. Drunk caught him by surprise. Shot him in the back when he thought it was all over. New guy is from out of town.” Stan answered quickly.

“Out of town?”

“He’s an old family friend of my wife. Used to be a police officer in New York, came out west with his child not long after Rachel moved here.”

“Give me two weeks.” Steve nodded. “If I can’t find them then I won’t.”

“Done.” Stan smiled, “When can you leave?”

“Thirty minutes, and I’ll ride it will be faster than the coach.”

Almost as if he had forgotten they were in the room, Steve pushed past them and out the door. Striding around the side of the building he stepped into his tent, already stripping out of the blue woollen jacket of his uniform. Unconsciously folding it, he dropped it on to the folding bunk and starting to unfasten the buttons of his britches. Stripped, he lifted a carpet bag onto the bunk and rummaged in it for clothes. He dressed quickly and efficiently in soft buckskin britches, practical denim shirt, leather vest and his favourite worn boots. Walking across the tent, he lifted well used holsters and wrapped them around his waist letting them slip a little before he fastened the buckle. Bending forward he tied the laces on the inside of each thigh. Standing straight he tested the fit of the guns, his hands falling to sit comfortably on the butt of his prized 1851 Navy Colts. Rummaging in an internal pocket in the carpet bag, he pulled out a tiny pocket sized Colt 1849 and slipped it into an internal pocket of his vest.

Lifting his saddle bags from the back of the straight back chair he kept at his desk, he checked it held its usual ever ready supply of jerky and ammunition. Slinging it over his shoulder, he lifted his Rifle off the desk and strode out of his tent, snagging his hat on the way.

Moving back to where Governor Edwards and Captain White were talking quietly on the boardwalk, he pressed his hat onto his head and spoke.

“Has my father been buried?” 

“No the undertaker is doing what he can to wait for your return.” Joe responded.

“Mary?” Steve frowned.

“Is Mary.” Joe answered with a frown and a small shrug.

“Governor?” Steve started, “Our accommodations aren’t much but you’re welcome to rest overnight. Or we have fresh horses if you’d like to get back.” 

“I’d just as soon change horses and make my way back, Rachel’s a mite perturbed by this and I’d rather not leave her alone longer than I need to.” Stan replied, his hand slipping into his coat to pull out some folded papers. “You’ll need these, wanted posters for the brothers and my letter of authorisation for you. Anything you need, a hand picked posse, anything. Just get these bastards.”

Nodding, he took the folded documents and then Steve turned his attention to Joe. “You’re welcome to use my tent until I get back. We don’t have much and the militia is rag tag, but they’re hard workers and learn fast.”

“We’ll be fine.” Joe assured him. “Go.”

Steve lifted his left hand to the wide brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell and walked briskly toward the barn. The barns had been their first permanent structures, housing their livestock and goods as they worked to build the fort around them. As he did, most of the militia were still living in tents.

Inside the barn, he quickly saddled his personal mount, a sleek buckskin nuzzled at his shoulder as he fit her bridle, he lifted a hand to scratch between her ears, slipping her an apple he had lifted from a barrel of fruit on his way into the barn.

Leading his horse out into the sunlight, he paused long enough to slip his foot into the stirrup and swing lithely up into the saddle. Settling comfortably, he ran a flat palm across his horses neck before he made a clicking noise in his throat and nudged her into motion. Cantering her across the parade ground he slowed for long enough for the gates to be opened and then galloped out of his fort.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve rode the rest of the day and long into the night, pausing only long enough to dismount and walk his horse, resting her as best he could without actually stopping. When he eventually stopped, the night sky like a diamond sprinkled velvet coverlet, he hobbled the horse, and lay on a thin bedroll, his head pillowed by his saddle content in the knowledge he was on his father’s property.

The warmth of the sun drew him from his restless slumber, he chewed on a piece of jerky as he saddled his horse. Scratching her between the ears, he fed her an apple in the palm of his other hand, keeping up a steady stream of conversation with her as he mounted up to ride the last several miles to his father’s homestead.

Cresting a small hill, the long grasses rippling like waves across the land, Steve adjusted his seat in the saddle. Lifting his hat off his head, he wiped sheen of sweat from his forehead with his forearm and looked across his father’s home yards. His home yards, he guessed now. The simple two storey ranch house with wide sweeping verandas had been home to him until just after his sixteenth birthday. Just after his mother’s accident. He hadn’t been home since. He and Mary had been sent away, Mary on a Stage Coach back to New York and their Mama’s brother, and Joe White had come and collected him and they’d ridden away to a Military academy, West Point and then duty and he’d never bothered to look back to the youthful home he had loved so much.  
He’d gathered bits and pieces of information, and had every letter his father had ever sent him, unopened, but hadn’t made the effort to come back. He knew that Mary had returned, and currently lived in the local saloon making her way as an entertainer. Catherine, his childhood friend and sweetheart, who was also the town newspaper editor, kept him up to date with town events. That’s how he knew that his father had retired from the Pinkerton’s and also knew that his father was working as a detective, part time, for the railroad, trying to keep the venture safe for the workers, the rest of the time he was raising horses for his good friend, Chin Ho Kelly, the local Pony Express Station Master.

One thing Catherine had neglected to mention to him was the existence of a new Sherriff. He knew from bitter experience that this town did accept outsiders readily. It had taken his family two generations to really be accepted, while he was a youngster he had borne a lot of not so good natured teasing from ‘locals’. If this new Sherriff was an outsider they’d never let him in long enough to solve his father’s murder.

Sighing deeply he pressed his hat back onto his head and reined in his horse. He leaned down to rub her neck affectionately. Sandy, as Mary had dubbed her long ago, because she couldn’t say the name Father had given her, Marquis, was the only gift from his father he had kept. She was the first mare produced on their farm and when John McGarrett had decided to send his children away, he had given her to Steve. His father’s betrayal had nothing to do with the horse, and she had been a trusted friend and ally in the long years since, maybe his only true friend.

Letting her canter down the incline, he surveyed the house closely. His father had maintained the exterior well, it was freshly whitewashed and all the shutters were straight, the fences were all straight and two paint ponies were frolicking in the corral.  
As he rode closer to the house, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, he sat straighter in his saddle, leaning back, he pulled his Henry rifle from its sheath and laid it loosely across his legs, one hand holding the reins letting Sandy pick her own path to the house, the other loosely cradling the gun, his finger on the trigger as his eyes scanned the house and yards carefully.

Riding around to the back of the house, he swung one leg over and slid silently to the ground. Dropping the reins to the ground he rested the barrel of the rifle on his forearm and moved into the house. Stepping through the kitchen, he walked into his father’s office, papers and debris lay scattered all over the floor and desktop. As he stepped out of the office, the sight that met him took his breath away. He had to close his eyes to stop from being overwhelmed. Dark sticky looking stains covered the floor and one of the walls, fleshy lumps dried into the mess. Much of the furniture was upended or broken. Shaking his head to clear pained thoughts he quickly surveyed the rest of the house. Finding nothing he considered useful yet in the house, he moved quickly towards the barn. 

The barn was the same as he remembered it, the same as many barns. His father had kept his equipment meticulously and everything appeared to be the same now, everything had a place and for the most part was in it. Walking into the tack room he let his fingers trace over dust covered saddles, across the workbench, memories flooding over him as he let his fingers touch his father’s hand tooled saddle bags. He frowned as his fingertips traced the intricate designs, something was wrong, John McGarrett would never leave his saddlebags in the barn. He opened the toggle and lifted the flap on the worn leather. Three thick leatherbound books, other odds and ends pushed into the gaps. The creak of a door dragged him from his memories, both hands dropped to his hips, drawing his Colts, he aimed one at each door, flicking his gaze between the entrances.

“You. Hands up. Don’t Move.” The voice preceded the appearance of a blonde man. “Put down your weapons.”

“Who are you?” Steve countered, both guns now trained on the smaller man, his thumb brushing the hammer.

“I’m Sherriff Danny Williams. Who are you?” the blonde snapped out.

“Captain Steven J McGarrett.” Steve snapped crisply, then smirked, “So you’re the new Sherriff.”

“That’s what it says on the badge.” Danny stated, before gesturing towards Steve with the tip of his pistol. “Put your weapon down.”

“I’m not putting my gun down.” Steve smirked at him.

“Neither am I.” Sherriff Williams almost growled at him. 

“At the same time?”

“At the same time?” Danny asked incredulously “What like on the count of three?”

Steve shrugged “Yeah, three’s good.”

The smaller man sighed and started the countdown as demanded. “One”

“Two” Steve joined in the countdown, lowering one pistol to it’s place on his hip.

“Three.” They counted together as their guns both settled back into their holsters.

“You can’t be here. What are you doing here?” the Sherriff asked.

“Investigating my father’s murder.” Steve responded.

“Leave that for the authorities. I’m investigating as we speak.”

“Doesn’t look much like it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Danny crossed his arms over his chest asking in annoyance.

“It means you haven’t caught anyone yet despite the fact that we all know who did it. You’re not even local.”

“Because you have to be local to solve a murder case? That makes less sense than anything else goes on in this god forsaken hell hole.”

“Then why move here.” Steve frowned.

“I can’t see how that is any of your business.” Danny growled.

Steve looked at the smaller man assessingly, before nodding slightly in acknowledgement and turning slightly away from him to look out the outer door. “What have you got on Hesse?”

“Nothing really. We all know that he did it. Doran as much as admitted what was going on out here while he had a skin full at the saloon.” Danny pushed his hat back on his head, “I was transporting a prisoner to the territorial marshall, but Meka, my deputy never put it together until Pat Jameson found him.”

“Pat found him?” Steve turned back, once again giving Danny his full attention.

“Yes. Why is that significant to you?” Danny frowned, noticing the renewed interest.

“She and Da have been more than friendly since Mom died.” Steve shrugged, “I should go and visit her, that would have been hard on her.”

“One of their henchmen was mouthing off in the saloon, fella by the name of Fred Doran, nice guy by the way, gun runner, slave trader, bank robber, he’s always been a supplier for the Hesse’s and some of their associates with weapons and the fast track to Mexico. I’m tracking him down now.”

“Where do we find him?”

“I’ve got a few errands to run but I am planning on following up with him this afternoon.”

“Where are your errands?” Steve asked

“In town.” Danny answered shortly. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“I’ll come too. I need to pick up some supplies. Then we can go and visit this Doran person.”

“I don’t recall actually inviting you.” Danny bristled.

“Governor gave me jurisdiction over anyone I need to get this town cleaned up. Check the letter.” Steve slipped the letter from his vest pocket and pushed it against Danny’s chest as he pushed past him and out of the tack room. “We’re going to get along just fine…partner.” His voice carried back to Danny as he walked towards the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Riding slowly into town it was difficult not to be overtaken by a wave of nostalgia. Sweetwater hadn’t changed a whit in the fifteen years since he had left. The buildings had been whitewashed and there were a couple more buildings but it was still the same old wide main street. It wasn’t hard to feel the eyes of the town upon him as they rode in. Steve pulled his hat down low, shading his face from the peeping eyes. He wasn’t sure that he wanted them to know he was back in town, even if they recognised him. It had been a long time and it wasn’t just bad feelings between he and his father that had kept him away. 

“How long since you’ve been home?” Danny spoke, his voice startling Steve out of his silent introspection.

“It’s been a while.” Steve murmured.

“Changed much?” Danny asked conversationally, eyes narrowed as he watched Steve’s surreptitious glances along the buildings in Main Street.

“Not so far.” Steve answered almost absently, not quite paying attention to his companions words.

“Got anything you need to do?” Danny prompted. “I’ll be about an hour. I’ll meet you back here.” Danny indicated the jailhouse as he slid out of the saddle and stepped down to the dusty street.

“Right.” Steve nodded, following suit. Looping Sandy’s reins around the hitching rail, he tilted his hat slightly forward, resting his hands on his low slung guns he walked off down the street, his boots kicking up a trail of dust as he did.

He could feel Danny’s eyes on his back as he walked but ignored the strange awareness he had developed as he turned his attention to seeking out his only real friend in town. Pushing open the door of the Sweetwater’s newspaper office, he slipped his hat off his head and held it in his hands as he waited for Catherine to notice him. He hadn’t seen her for almost twelve months and truth be told he missed her.

“Won’t be long.” A disembodied voice came from somewhere at the back of the printing press.

“No rush.” Steve called back.

“Steven?” Catherine responded, “Is that you?”

“Surely is.” He spoke stepping further into the office, grinning when Catherine’s head popped up at the back of the press, wisps of her hair escaping from the loose bun at her nape, a smudge of black ink colouring the tip of her nose.

“What are you doing here?” she asked her eyes looking panicked, as she tried not to look him in the eye.

“It’s alright Cath. I know about Dad.” Steve soothed her as he came to a halt beside the press, almost close enough to touch her.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” She murmured, stepping free of the press and straight into his arms. “I sent a letter with the express.”

“It’s alright, Cath, Governor has asked me to find the killer. I’m back for a while.” Steve shrugged.

“Danny does a good job. Town just doesn’t trust him yet.” Cath pulled out of Steve’s embrace and walked over to a stack of back issues of the paper. Shuffling a few out she handed them to Steve. “We ran a few stories about your Dad’s murder, I don’t know if they’ll help but you’re welcome to them.”

Steve took them from her and walked over to the window for better light to read them by. Glancing down the street he couldn’t help but notice Danny walking down the street with a young girl, his hand on her shoulder, the little girl hugging a slate to her chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the new Sherriff?” Steve asked, watching Danny’s interactions with the child. “Is that his kid?” he gestured out the window.

Catherine walked closer to the window and nodded. “He’s a good man.” Cath answered.

“You sound sure of that.” Steve responded, smiling as he watched Danny swing the young girl up into his arms talking animatedly to her.

“He’s been fair and just since he took the job. He loves his little girl,” Catherine smiled fondly. “Her name is Grace, she helps me out with the papers some days. Only wrong thing he does to her? They live in the lean to at the back of the jailhouse.”

“Why do I hear a but in there?” Steve turned his attention back to Catherine as Danny stepped into the boarding house across the way.

“No but. Some of the older townsfolk think that Grace shouldn’t be living with him, especially with his job, but he loves that little girl. He has an arrangement with Jenna Kaye, from the boarding house that she babysits Grace when he’s working.”

“So the busybodies are at it again.” Steve shrugged, turning his attention back to the newspaper, he fell silent.

“Very much so.” Catherine responded softly, stepping closer to him and pressing her hand to his arm, stroking gently. “Are you going to visit with Mary while you’re here?”

“What good would that do, Cath?” he couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice. “Dad made so many choices for us that we don’t even know each other anymore.”

“She could use a friend, Steve, she wasn’t as lucky as you. You should really read your dad’s letters.”

“Can I take these, Cath?” he gestured at the newspapers gripped tightly in his hands.

“Sure, I have more.” Catherine’s brow furrowed as she spoke.

“I’ll see you later, we should have dinner at the saloon one night.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, before turning and walking out of her office.


	5. Chapter 5

Exactly an hour after they arrived in town, they were on the road again. Danny watched Steve surreptitiously as they rode. Eventually sighing at the extended silence, it wasn’t that it was awkward or even strained, just silent.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I actually said it before.” Danny offered.

“For what? You didn’t kill him.” Steve shrugged, “My old man and I, we had some differences, some that I don’t think we would have ever fixed.”

“But you’re here for him now, that has to count for something.” Danny spoke, “He spoke about you all the time, whole town knows what a hero you are.”

“I’m no hero.” Steve turned his attention back to the passing countryside.

“Your father saw it differently.” 

“What brought you to town?” Steve asked, clearly changing the subject. As he spoke he moved in the saddle, settling himself in more comfortably for the topic change.

“My daughter.” Danny responded, his voice gentling as he spoke.

“Don’t get me wrong, but she looks a little young to drag you across the whole country.” Steve probed.

“Her mother married, I can’t let my little girl grow up without knowing her mother, so here we are.”

“That’s a big move.” Steve responded quietly understanding the implications of what he had just been told, and watching Danny carefully, 

“It’s important to me that she knows her mother, every little girl needs her mommy.”

“Why isn’t she with her mother?” Steve asked quietly, tugging gently on his reins and moving his horse closer to Danny’s making the conversation more private if that were possible in the wide outdoors.

Danny looked sideways at his companion, before he almost imperceptibly shrugged and started to speak.

“I met Grace’s mother when she was just off the boat from England. She nearly knocked me out when her luggage fell off her wagon and onto me. One thing led to another and she was pregnant, we weren’t married and it all just went to hell. She moved out of town until Grace was born but then she gave her to me.” 

“That must have been rough,” Steve murmured. “but you love your daughter.”

“Not so bad and I do. Grace is my monkey. I’d do anything for her, but the only thing I’ve ever been good at is the law. So now I try to keep whatever place we’re at safe for my daughter, I can’t guarantee that she won’t think I’m a selfish bastard when she’s older, but for now it’s what I do.”

“You’re a good father.” Steve said softly. “She’ll know that.”

“I hope so.” Danny answered him before lifting his arm to point at a distant fence line. “That’s the edge of the property. We should have thought this through more. I think we need back up.”

“Nah.” Steve grinned at him as he tightened his hold on the reins and turned his horse towards the property. “You’re my backup.” He called over his shoulder as he urged his horse into a trot.

Danny’s fears were both correct and unfounded. As he followed Steve towards the small rundown farmhouse, he watched Steve, under fire, swing down from his horse and slap it’s rump to send it out of the line of fire before pressing his body to the side of the house. As Danny swung off of his horse, Steve watched as a bullet sliced through Danny’s upper arm.

“Danny!” he called, concerned about his new comrade.

“Go, Go.” Danny called, Steve waited long enough to see Danny climb to his feet, before he charged up the steps to the porch and kicked the front door open and burst into the house. Seeing the gunman running through the house towards the door at the rear, Steve aimed his sidearm at him and pursued him through the house, only to come to a dead stop as he rounded the corner of the house.

Fred Doran, his hair a wild crazy mop blowing around his head, his eyes glazed with the insanity only an opiate could bring, was holding a young Asian woman by the throat the muzzle of his pistol pressed hard enough against her forehead to bruise.  
“Let her go, Doran.”

“Put your gun down.” Doran barked at him.

“We don’t have to do this.; You sold a guns to a man named Victor Hess. I’m not after you, I want him. Tell me where he is and I’ll walk away.”

“I”m not talking to you.” Doran snapped as his eyes flicked nervously around their surroundings, his agitation increasing by the second. “Put the gun down or I swear to god I’ll kill her.”

Steve, inhaled slowly trying to calm his own nerves, his fingers slowly loosening around the grip of his own gun. As his hands uncurled from the stock, one hand rising in supplication, one single shot rang out, and Doran’s hold on the young woman loosened as he crumpled to the ground.

A frown furrowed Steve’s brow as his mind slowly recognised what had just happened. The young woman her eyes wide with fear and relief, fled Doran’s loosened embrace, running frantically until Steve holstered his weapon and side stepped, his long arms effectively pulling her into his loose embrace trying to calm her frantic screaming.

Looking over the woman’s head, he sighed as Danny rounded the side of the building his Remington 1858, cradled across his elbow, the sleeve of his shirt ripped and soaked in blood.

“You good?” Steve quirked a brow at him.

“For now.” Danny nodded.

“What did you do that for?” Steve demanded, “You just shot my only witness.”

“Forgive me for killing the man that had a hostage and a gun that could kill you.” 

“He was the only one that could tell me how to find the man that killed my father.” Steve released the woman barely watching as she fled into the house. Running his fingers through his short hair he paced back and forth, his mind flicking through scenarios.

“And now we’ll find another way.” Danny shrugged. “What about the girl?”

“The girl?” Steve’s mind was blank for a matter of seconds until he remembered Doran’s hostage. Running into the house, Steve searched it quickly eventually finding the young woman in the back of a wardrobe in the upstairs bedroom. 

Opening the door slowly, she cowered in the corner the wardrobe, her body curled into the smallest space she could fill, terrified of Steve.

“Hey,” he murmured soothingly, hunkering down until he was on eye level with her. “What’s your name?”

Her only response was to cower further into the back of the wardrobe, her eyes wide and confused.

Something about her was unusual, her reactions not quite what he expected, so acting on a hunch he asked her again, this time differently.

“Ni jiao shen me ming zi?” his words were calm and soothing as he extended a hand to her.

Smiling shyly she tentatively pushed a hand forward and slid it into his. “Chen Chi.” She stated softly.

Haltingly by a combination of mandarin and hand signals Steve found more information than he needed to know. Leaving Chen Chi seated at the kitchen table under promise to stay, Steve walked outside to check on Danny and share his newfound information.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Steve walked up behind Danny as he pulled hay from a bale in the corner of the ramshackle barn for the horses.  
“No thanks to you.” Danny grumped. “You can’t go running in without back up.”

“I had you.” Steve shrugged, an endearing grin crossing his face.

“No you didn’t.” Danny groused angrily.

“Yes I did. I asked you.”

“No you didn’t.” Danny argued, “I can’t be following you into harms way because you’re all gung ho army action man. I have a daughter.”

“That girl is someone’s daughter too.” Steve answered.

“Don’t you question my resolve about my daughter.” Danny jabbed a hard finger into Steve’s chest with every word. “Your vendetta is not going to get me killed.”

“Get your finger out of my face.” Steve snarled.

“I’m not following you into stupid....”Danny started to rant at him but suddenly Steve’s hand closed around Danny’s jabbing finger and his arm was twisted around as Steve’s pressure on his arm pushed him to his knees.

“I know you don’t like me.” Steve spoke, his voice calm and contained. “But right now you’re the only one I have to help me. I need to know that we’re good.”

Danny his arm folded behind him, his temper flaring, clenched his teeth and nodded tightly, waiting patiently for Steve to release his hand. When he did he stood, and rubbed his wrist assessingly barely listening to Steve as he spoke about what their next tasks should be.

Turning he walked back towards Steve, nodding as if he was listening to him before he drew back and hit him squarely on the jaw, the blow spinning Steve around and almost to his knees before Danny turned on his heel and walked around to mount up and ride out of the yard.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was surprised by the town turn out at his father’s funeral. For a man that spent the bulk of his life pissing the townsfolk off, they all seemed to be genuinely saddened by his death. Steve, in full dress uniform, stood at his father’s gravesite, his eyes scanning the crowd, watching the grief of the people who were clearly his father’s friends. His eyes travelled over and over to the young blond woman who stood slightly apart from the others. 

Mary.

His sister.

In what seemed another life, Mary had been Steve’s welcome shadow, they had been each other’s company and best friends when they were kids growing up on a property far from other children. But then their mother had died and their idyllic childhood had been shot to hell. Where his own life had taken a turn towards authority and rules, Mary had turned the other way. From what he’d heard from Catherine, Mary was working as a singer/waitress at the saloon, no one could be sure if she was actually whoring, but to Steve it didn’t matter, she was his Mary.

But this wasn’t the place for long overdue family reunions, this was their father’s funeral. Besides she hadn’t even bothered to glance up at him, so clearly he was the only one that wanted to rekindle their sibling status.

Instead he stood there through the service, accepted the platitudes and condolences of what seemed like most of the town as he watched his sister climb into a buggy and ride away.


End file.
